The Spaghetti Catalyst
by minor-thing
Summary: Leonard wallows over Penny. Leonard/Penny


The Spaghetti Catalyst

Leonard's disturbing amount of time looking at photos of Penny and smelling the pillow she slept on. Bittersweet little clip.

Wrote it a couple weeks ago, forgot to post!

Leah

His bed became his home. In boxers, smudged glasses and unkempt curly hair, Leonard sat under his sheets. He ate take-out in his bed, watched movies on his laptop. _The Way We Were_, _Serendipity, Sleepless in Seattle_: all movies he'd IMBD'd to see if they were appropriately fitted to his sentimental state of mind. He'd watched a couple episodes of _The Incredible Hulk _too, but that was just for relief from his melancholy.

For two days he was in bed. Little white cardboard boxes cluttered his bedside table. He started piling them on top of the pot of lip balm and herbal hand cream that sit on the night stand on Penny's side of the bed.

It wasn't really her side anymore. He didn't foresee any scenarios where she would be needing to occupy a side of his bed in his future. The pillow still smelled like her shampoo.

No, shower, no shave. Leonard stopped talking his vitamins, stopped brushing his teeth. He popped a Lactaid and attempted to eat a couple of spoonfuls of the chocolate ice cream in the freezer, but to no avail.

The bathroom, in which Leonard spent a significant period of time in after the ice cream, was riddled with her belongings. Soap, cinnamon tooth paste, brushes, hair pins, pony tail holders, make-up, massage oil, and lotion. All neatly tucked away in a wicker basket that Sheldon had courteously printed up a _Penny _label for.

.

He flipped through printed photos of the two of them. Penny had taken to carrying a camera with her a lot more since they'd begun dating, and every so often she'd plug her memory card into Leonard's computer and he'd print out the best ones.

Photos of them in front of a restaurant, at the park, at a bar, out dancing, walking around the city; all of them inordinately close to their face and Penny's outstretched arm holding the camera clearly visible. In a lot of them, you could barely see whatever backdrop there was.

Leonard's first reaction was to think: that's ok, it didn't really matter where they were, as long as they were there together.

He acknowledged this as grossly sappy.

But still true.

He flipped through the pictures over and over. Over and over. Wondering what it was about their relationship that made her feel like she couldn't be honest, couldn't say what she really felt. Leonard was confident that she did love him. He'd spent far too much time laying with her, chatting, or inside of her, not chatting to believe that she didn't love him. Far too many times stroking her hair while she fell asleep or they watched a movie. Far too many times having her rub his back as they fell asleep. Too many nights spent with her curled under his arms.

Plus, the look in her eyes… That look when he told her something personal about himself: admiration. That look when she told him something personal about herself: comfort. That look when he'd pick her up dinner, bring her a bottle of water from the fridge, buy her flowers, make bed while she was in the shower, screw the lid on the peanut butter all the way, lend her a pair of socks when her feet got cold: gratitude.

The hazy, smoldering look when he'd tug her to him in bed by the fabric of her tank top. Or, the countless nights where there was no tank top to grab on to, just skin upon skin.

God damn.

It all unravelled so fast, slipping out of his hands before he could fix it. All he'd done was verbalize the looks they'd shared.

Years and years of alluded-to romance and a year of acknowledge romance all down the drain. The gutter, if you wanted to make a pun.

Leonard didn't want to. He didn't want to do anything except eat Pad Thai in his bed, listen to Alanis Morisette and fume over Penny. And then, when he realized the fuming wasn't bringing her back or making her say she loved him, wallow.

This feeling, this complete fascination he had for Penny, was _just_ not going to go away, was it?

Fuck.

-_fin._

Author's note: Reviews are beloved.


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